flying bastards

12 May

I traveled home for Mother’s Day last weekend (because I’m a good daughter like that, even if my mom’s response to the good news that I’d bought a plane ticket and packed my bags was, “Oh. So no Cooking Light subscription this year?”).

Taking off, we flew over this:

Am I going to get in trouble for posting that photo? Are Feds or CIA operators or starred Generals going to show up at my door? Jesus, I hope not. I haven’t cleaned in awhile.

Exciting, no? That this is what you see when taking off from Reagan. It adds to that sense of Washingtonian power. Had our flight path also included a tour of the monuments, as it sometimes does, it would have been a quintessential DC experience of…some sort. I’m reaching here. I know.

Landing in Chicago, we flew over this:

Not nearly as exciting, flying in over a lush golf course, a passel of warehouses, and what I think was Midway airport. (Not that you see any of that here, but whatevs.) I much prefer to fly in over the lake, to see the Chicago skyline jutting up against water that is pretty to look at but in actuality won’t be swimmable until August, but apparently American Airlines (you bastards) didn’t feel the need to consult me on the flight pattern. They did however, fail to inform me that they no longer allow people to fly standby, and thus I was left with the options of either hanging around the airport for LIT-trally 7+ hours until my original flight, or ponying up $50 to make me a confirmed passenger on the 2:30 flight. (You bastards.) After weighing the merits of catching up on Foyle’s War and Planet Earth, both DVDs of which I had in my carryon, and shelling out what would without a doubt be a large lump sum of cash-monies for a bar bill and airport interwebs fees, vs. the $50 to get me to Chicago at the start of rush hour traffic, I handed over my credit card.

But I glowered at American Airlines while I did it.

Oh yes. I did. Not at the customer service reps directly of course, because I know it’s not their fault that The Corporation is imposing this rule, but I did focus my terrifying glower at the big AA logo behind the service desk.

You bastards.

And you couldn’t even fly by the lake for me.

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